


If you find someone who loves you with the lights on, you’ve found the one you love

by theglitterati



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Worship, Established Relationship, M/M, Ugly!Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After someone calls Grantaire ugly during his open mic performance, Enjolras tries to make him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you find someone who loves you with the lights on, you’ve found the one you love

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as ever to my wonderful beta [Carol](http://ronnlynch.tumblr.com)!
> 
> The title is from "The One You Love" by Passenger feat. Kate Miller Heidke.

The lights are a little blinding, but Grantaire doesn’t mind. He can still see his friends and Enjolras at the table. As long as he can see them, everything will be fine.

It’s open mic night at Corinthe, the local bar, and Grantaire has decided to play a few songs. Just covers, nothing special. He’s trying very hard to keep it from everyone how excited he is about this.

He plugs in his guitar and gets it tuned, and then he adjusts the mic stand. He thinks that maybe he should say something, introduce himself – the other two people that went on before him did – but fuck it. He just starts to play right away.

He chose this song because he knows Enjolras loves it – loves to hear Grantaire play it, that is. He had sung it softly in Enjolras’s ear last night in bed, knowing full well that Enjolras is extremely ticklish, and that his breath on Enjolras’s neck would make him squirm.

The performance is going well enough so far. Grantaire’s been playing guitar for years, so he hits almost every note perfectly. His voice isn’t too bad, either.

In the crowd, his friends are cheering him on. Courfeyrac is a little drunk and is putting on a performance of his own, dancing to the music in his seat, knocking into Combeferre on every second beat. Grantaire catches Enjolras’s eye, and smiles through his singing. Enjolras smiles back, and Grantaire can feel his face flush from more than just the heat of the stage lights.

If Enjolras hadn’t encouraged him to do this, he might never have done it. Then again, there are a lot of things that he might never have done if he had never started dating Enjolras. Knowing that he has Enjolras there to support him, Grantaire puts a little more energy and a little more charm into the performance.

And that’s when it all goes to shit. Grantaire is just finishing the second verse of the song when some guy in the audience, over by the bar, yells out, “Get off the stage, you ugly bastard!”

It’s hot under the lights, but Grantaire feels cold as the words wash over him. It’s not the first time he’s heard something like this – he lost count of the number of times he’d been called ugly years ago – but that doesn’t mean that he’s immune to it. The guy is probably wasted and is definitely an asshole, but still – the words hurt.

Thankfully, he manages to keep playing through it. He casts his eyes down at the floor, however, so as not to see the looks of pity on his friends’ faces. He hears yelling from the crowd that sounds suspiciously like Courfeyrac, but he can’t make out what he says.

When Grantaire finally does look up, after the chorus, he immediately sees that there’s a problem. Enjolras and Combeferre are missing from the table, and Grantaire can see Enjolras’s blond curls over the crowd, moving quickly in the direction of the bar, Combeferre trying to catch up with him.

“Shit,” Grantaire says into the mic, interrupting his singing. His fingers keep playing the guitar of their own accord. “Enjolras, don’t—”

Not only does Grantaire not get the words out in time, the result is far worse than he expected. Grantaire had thought that Enjolras had gone over to yell at the guy for heckling him. Instead, Grantaire had watched helplessly as Enjolras pulled his arm back and punched the guy square in the jaw.

It’s a good punch, too. Grantaire really regrets having taught Enjolras how to do that.

Thankfully, the guy is staggering around, probably both from the punch and from the drink, and he can’t hit Enjolras back. Grantaire has stopped playing completely now, and is watching the scene play out, along with everyone else in the bar. Enjolras looks like he’s angrily lecturing the guy, though Grantaire can’t hear him; and even if he could, he’s not sure he wants to know what Enjolras is saying. Combeferre gets his arms around Enjolras’s waist and tries to drag him away from the guy, but they’ve barely moved before security reaches them.

It’s as security is half-guiding, half-dragging Enjolras towards the door that he and Grantaire finally lock eyes. Enjolras must see on Grantaire’s face that he’s about to follow him, because he calls out.

“Please finish playing, Taire! I’m – _ouch, watch your hands_ – sorry! Please play the rest of your songs!” There’s more, but the bouncers shove Enjolras out the door at that point, so Grantaire doesn’t hear the rest. He sees Combeferre follow Enjolras out unescorted.

Grantaire just stands frozen on the stage. He has absolutely no desire to keep playing after everything that’s happened. But he can’t just jump of the stage; that would give way too much satisfaction to the guy who heckled him (who is still at the bar, though he’s now sporting the beginnings of a bruise on his jaw and staring daggers at Grantaire).

Grantaire looks back at his friends. Eponine gives him two thumbs up, and Courfeyrac puts both hands to his mouth and whistles loudly. Grantaire feels much shakier than before without Enjolras in the crowd, but his friends are pretty great, too.

“Sorry about my boyfriend,” he jokes into the mic, not really sure where the words are coming from. “He can be a little impulsive.”

Grantaire hears laughter, presumably from his friends, but it’s not them he’s watching. It’s the guy who heckled him, who, upon hearing that the beautiful specimen who punched him is poor, unfortunate-looking Grantaire’s boyfriend, goes slack-jawed, his eyes bulging. That stupid look alone gives Grantaire all the confidence he needs to keep playing.

He finishes the song that he was in the middle of, then plays two more. No one else yells anything; who would, when they saw what happened to the last guy? He’s grateful when it’s over, jumping off the stage without thanking the audience or announcing that he was finished.

When he walks back over to the table, all of his friends try to talk at once.

“Please stop. I don’t want to talk about it,” he says immediately, as he zips his guitar back into its case and slips it onto his back. “Does anyone know where Enjolras went?”

“Combeferre texted and said they’re at the coffee shop across the street,” Courfeyrac says. “But really, Grantaire, that was—”

“Chill,” Eponine says, cutting him off before he can say anything about the set. “He said he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire says gratefully, meeting her eye. She gives him a curt nod. “I’m probably not coming back, and I’m not really in the mood for the long goodbye hugs, so I’ll see you all later, okay?” He waits for them all to nod before he turns and practically runs from the bar.

Enjolras and Combeferre are sitting on stools by the window in the coffee shop, and Enjolras jumps up right away when he sees Grantaire come outside. They meet on the opposite side of the street from the bar, under the harsh lights of the café.

“Are you too mad at me for me to give you a hug?” is the first thing Enjolras says.

“No,” Grantaire answers, and before it’s even out of his mouth, Enjolras has thrown himself on him and is squeezing him tight.

“I’m just going to… go,” Combeferre says awkwardly when Enjolras finally pulls back. “We’re not going to stay here,” he adds vehemently. “Not after that; I’ll get them to go somewhere else—”

“Don’t bother, it’s fine,” Grantaire assures him. He really doesn’t want to inconvenience everyone; he just wants to go home. Combeferre nods, and heads back into the bar.

Enjolras looks like a little kid that’s expecting to get a talking-to. Grantaire sighs; that’s not what he’s going to do.

“Are you okay?” he asks Enjolras. “He didn’t hit you back, did he?”

“No, he didn’t,” Enjolras says. “Though my hand really hurts now.”

“That will happen,” Grantaire says mildly. He takes Enjolras’s sore hand in his, running his fingers over it softly.

“So are you not mad at me then?”

“No,” Grantaire says. He’s not mad, but it’s not the whole truth, either. “Do you want me to be?”

“No,” Enjolras answers. “But can I still say I’m sorry? I feel bad for ruining your set. You kept playing after what that asshole said, but I made you stop…”

“You didn’t ruin the set,” Grantaire tells him. “That douchebag was the one that ruined it. You were just defending my honour.” He gives a soft little laugh, and Enjolras smiles.

“Can we go home now?” Grantaire asks.

“Of course,” Enjolras says.

They start walking, the businesses along the street turning into duplexes and apartment buildings as they get closer to home. Grantaire holds Enjolras’s good hand.

“Why were you mad at that guy?” Grantaire finally says. It’s been bothering him, so he might as well just say it. “What made you so mad that you had to punch him?”

Enjolras bites his lip, thinking.

“He ruined something that I knew you were really excited for. I fucking hate it when people do that. Try to take away something good from someone because they’re jealous or bored or just mean. Normally, it would have only warranted a lecture from me.” Enjolras laughs softly. Grantaire didn’t realize he was capable of such self-reflection. “But it was you, Taire, and I know you were trying to hide it, but you looked upset, and… and I just lost it.”

Grantaire exhales a breath he didn’t realize that he had been holding, his doubts relieved. “Good answer,” he says quietly.

Enjolras gives him a confused smile. “I’m glad. What was the wrong answer?”

“Well…” Grantaire starts. “I thought maybe you were offended that the guy called me ugly. Like, you were offended that someone would call _your_ boyfriend ugly.”

“You thought that I was ashamed of the way you looked, and that I had to change that guy’s mind so I wouldn’t have to be?”

“When you put it like that—”

Enjolras stops walking and blocks Grantaire’s path, dropping his hand. “Grantaire, are you serious? That’s what you thought?”

“I just—”

“Grantaire, that is the most foolish thing I have ever heard you say. How could you ever believe that I would be ashamed of you?” Enjolras’s concern is written all over his face. Grantaire doesn’t say anything.

“I _love_ you, Taire,” Enjolras says, more emphatically.

“I love you, too, Enj,” Grantaire mumbles to the ground. Looking at Enjolras when he’s all intense and worked-up like this can be like staring at the sun.

“Good,” Enjolras says. They start walking again, Enjolras taking Grantaire’s hand again.

When they’re almost home, Enjolras speaks up.

“Taire,” Enjolras says, almost timid. “You know that you aren’t ugly, right?”

Grantaire realizes why Enjolras sounded reluctant; this is not the first time they’ve had this argument.

“Can we please not start this again?”

“I just can’t stand thinking that you see yourself that way, when it’s so totally different from what I see.”

“You see the world through rose-coloured glasses, Enj,” Grantaire retorts, as he fits the key into the front door of the building. “Myself included.”

“No, that’s not what this is!” Enjolras huffs, going from calm to fired up in zero seconds flat. (A very typical Enjolras reaction to anything he disagrees with.) “ _You_ just need to see that you are good-looking; everyone else can already see it! It’s you who has… mud-coloured glasses on,” Enjolras finishes, grimacing at his failing metaphor.

“Enough with the calling me ‘good-looking,’ body positivity talk for one night, okay?” Grantaire says irritably, as he shuts the door of the apartment behind them.

Enjolras stares at him for a long moment, then shakes his head. “No,” Enjolras says simply. “I’m not going to let you wallow.” He stops talking long enough to shove Grantaire up against the door, the guitar rattling behind him. “You don’t want me to call you ‘good-looking’? Fine. I know plenty of other words. I have a very big vocabulary, Taire.”

With that, he grabs Grantaire by the collar, dragging him in for a rough kiss.

***

“I get to call you attractive,” Enjolras says, as he presses a line of kisses against Grantaire’s neck, “because I am _so_ attracted to you. That’s what the word means, you know.” Grantaire chuckles as Enjolras moves up to his jaw and steps closer, closing the space between them. “Just when I think that I can’t possibly be any more attracted to you, you go and do something that changes my mind. Like tonight, before you stopped playing, you have no idea what it was doing to me to see you on stage.” Enjolras is all over Grantaire at this point, and Grantaire can’t help but roll his hips into Enjolras’s, finding Enjolras already hard.

“Want to go to the bedroom?” Enjolras whispers into Grantaire’s ear, and Grantaire knows that isn’t the only question he’s asking. He’s asking if Grantaire is okay with what he’s saying. And Grantaire finds that he is. And that he really wants to see where Enjolras is going with this.

Enjolras takes him by the hand and leads them to the bedroom, both of them stepping out of their shoes on the way, Grantaire shrugging off the guitar and leaving it by the bedroom door. Enjolras makes a point of flipping the light on. Then he gently pushes Grantaire onto the bed, positioning them so that Grantaire is leaning on the pillows, and Enjolras is straddling his lap.

“I know that you’re cute,” Enjolras says, pulling Grantaire’s shirt off, “because I’m here when you wake up in the morning, and I get to see what your hair looks like before you shower.” Enjolras ruffles up Grantaire’s hair for effect, leaving it in a fairly accurate semblance of how messy it is in the morning. “And because I’ve come home to find you dancing and cooking in the kitchen.” Enjolras pulls his own shirt off, then lets his hands roam all over Grantaire’s chest and stomach. It’s the part of Grantaire’s body that he’s most self-conscious about, but under Enjolras’s reverent touch, it feels sacred. Grantaire tries to touch Enjolras back, but he takes Grantaire’s hands and sets them at his sides with a coy smile. “And,” Enjolras adds, “because I saw the adorable expression on your face when we went to the fair and you held that baby duck,” and Grantaire has to laugh.

Enjolras moves off of Grantaire so that he can remove both of their jeans and socks, then climbs back on top of him, moving his mouth down Grantaire’s chest to the waistband of his boxers.

“You’re hot,” he says, pulling back the elastic to tongue Grantaire’s hipbone, “because that’s how you make me feel. Like the room is too hot. Sometimes when we’re together in public, it’s all I can do not to drag you to the bathroom or an alley and rip your clothes right off of you.” Grantaire sees Enjolras start palming himself through his underwear, his hips rutting against the touch, and the image is enough to make Grantaire buck against Enjolras’s face. Enjolras gets the hint, and he pulls Grantaire’s boxers down quickly and takes his cock into his mouth.

It’s quiet for a while, because Enjolras’s mouth is far too full for talking. Still, he hums as he sucks Grantaire in deeper, and Grantaire can feel the vibrations through his entire body. Enjolras keeps going until Grantaire is writhing underneath him. Grantaire would be perfectly happy to finish like this, with Enjolras’s pretty mouth around him, but he gets even more excited when Enjolras pulls off and reaches for the lube in the bedside table.

Grantaire is expecting Enjolras to lie down beside him, but he pulls both of their boxers off, then moves back into his lap instead.

“I’m going to ride you, if that’s okay,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire thinks he might have died and gone to a surprisingly dirty heaven. He swallows loudly as he nods in agreement.

Enjolras takes the bottle of lube and holds it out to Grantaire, his eyebrows raised. “Can you open me up? I don’t think I can talk and do it at the same time.”

A different man might have told Enjolras that he should probably just shut up and fuck him already, but Grantaire is not that man. For some reason, he finds all of the weirdest things Enjolras does incredibly endearing, and this talking-thesaurus act is no exception.

Enjolras stays on top of Grantaire, but balances himself up on his knees, his hands on the headboard on either side of Grantaire. Grantaire knows that Enjolras is used to him teasing him more when they do this, making him beg for Grantaire’s fingers, but he’s not in the mood for teasing tonight. He spreads lube on his hands, then slides a finger into Enjolras’s entrance immediately.

The long, drawn-out moan that it elicits from Enjolras is very rewarding. Grantaire thinks he might have rendered Enjolras speechless, but, of course, that is not the case.

“You’re so sexy, Taire,” Enjolras continues, though he’s moaning all the way through it now. He leans forward so that his and Grantaire’s foreheads are touching, and he brings his hand up to run his fingers over Grantaire’s lips. “You look like sex to me; I just want—ah!” Enjolras cries out as Grantaire simultaneously slips a second finger inside of him and sucks Enjolras’s own fingers into his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras is saying, his words coming out in a jumble over his heavy breathing. “Sorry, I’m trying to tell you how I – _oh my god_ – but I can’t – I can’t talk anymore, just wanna fuck—”

“It’s okay,” Grantaire says, taking Enjolras’s face in his free hand. “I appreciate it, but I got your point like three adjectives ago. Why don’t you just show me what you mean?”

Enjolras nods gratefully, grabbing for the lube bottle. He quickly works it over Grantaire’s cock, then pulls off of Grantaire’s fingers and sits down onto him.

Enjolras rests his head against Grantaire’s shoulder for a moment, adjusting, then starts to move. Grantaire slides his hands up Enjolras’s thighs, and Enjolras grabs at them, frantically placing kisses onto his fingers and palms.

Enjolras keeps a quick, steady rhythm for a while, then he starts to slow down, and Grantaire can see a layer of sweat shining on his forehead.

“Can I help?” Grantaire asks softly, and Enjolras nods. Grantaire slides down on the bed a little so that he’ll have better leverage, and then thrusts up into Enjolras, making them both moan.

Enjolras is flushed and panting above him, and Grantaire can tell he’s close, so he starts working Enjolras’s cock in time with his thrusts. Soon, Enjolras is coming, repeating Grantaire’s name breathlessly as he soaks Grantaire’s working hand. And, as always, the look on Enjolras’s face when he finishes, combined with him repeating Grantaire’s name, is enough to send Grantaire over the edge with him. Normally, Enjolras is the loud one in bed, but Grantaire can’t keep himself from crying out as he comes.

Enjolras collapses – not gently – on top of Grantaire, trying to catch his breath. “That was… really good,” he says between breaths.

“That was wonderful,” Grantaire says, kissing Enjolras’s forehead.

They take their time cleaning up and getting dressed in pajamas for bed, brushing their teeth together, Enjolras trading his contacts for glasses. Then, they come back together under the covers. Though Enjolras is a good three inches taller than Grantaire, he likes to rest his head on Grantaire’s chest, and Grantaire loves it. He wraps his arms around him.

“Was that okay?” Enjolras asks, turning to face him, resting his chin on Grantaire’s chest. “I mean the stuff I said, not the sex. I know you don’t always like it when I say things like that. And I know that there are a lot more important things to be in life than good-looking – I could make a long list of other good words that describe you, too. I just wanted to make up for what happened tonight, and make you happy—”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, cutting him off because he’s starting to feel a little teary. “You did make me happy. It was totally okay. You were perfect.”

“Okay,” Enjolras says shyly. “Because I have one more thing that I’d like to say, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

Enjolras slides up the bed so that his face is level with Grantaire’s, so that he is looking Grantaire directly in the eyes when he says, “You are beautiful, Grantaire. And physical beauty is part of it, because you know that I think you look absolutely perfect. But it’s more than that. You’re funny and smart, and you’re just as generous and kind to strangers as you are to your friends. And you make lovely music and stunning artwork and really good lasagne.” Grantaire snickers.

“And you’re the best boyfriend in the world. I’ve never been so comfortable and so in love as I am with you. Because you’re the most beautiful person in the world to me.” Enjolras’s eyes are wide as he reaches out to run the back of his fingers over Grantaire’s cheek.

“Was that okay?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire is too choked up to say anything, so he just nods and pulls Enjolras close, burying his face into his boyfriend’s curls and smiling.


End file.
